


The Sins Of Sodom And Gomorrah

by SpicyReyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur is Camp Gay, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bottom Arthur Morgan, Fix-It, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slurs, basically a (reluctantly) openly bi arthur au, or well camp bi I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: The Van der Linde gang knew no prejudice. They were criminals, they were outcasts, they were freaks. Everyone was welcome, everyone was equal, everyone was free.Didn't mean Arthur really wanted all their new members to be present when the old timers started airing all his old dirty laundry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uh   
> I have no excuse for this I just wanted "openly bi Arthur Morgan" to be a thing and there was not a whole lot of that so here we go, an au i have planned out that is surprisingly actually a lot different   
> also it's charthur because I'm Weak™  
> this will contain a lot of homophobia, racism, and sexism, all handled roughly the same way it is in game (which is to say, casually thrown around and openly disapproved of by the main characters with the exceptions of use of it for jokes, because they're all actually terrible people)   
> happy ending is promised, everyone lives is promised, SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE GAME, arthur IS going to get TB but he will not die from it....that's about it I think  
> enjoy?

“What’s the story between you and Morgan?”

Arthur’s knife slowed in it steady scrape across the wood in his hands, keeping it going as best he could without hindering his ability to listen in. His position behind the food tent, half sprawled in the grass, seemed to have given him a lucky in on a conversation Tilly likely hadn’t intended him to be able to overhear. 

“What’d’ya mean?” he heard John ask. Arthur abandoned his carving - his arrows weren’t shit against Charles’, anyway - and listened in earnest, unsure if John was playing dumb or genuinely hadn’t made the jump.

“Y’know,” Tilly prompted, voice low and sly. “He don’t never say a word, ‘cept when you show up, and he’ll trip over himself tryin’ to tell you off. I couldn’t even tell if he was jokin’, talkin’ about leavin’ you back in Colter.”

“He probably wasn’t,” John muttered. There was a moment of quiet where Tilly must have given him some significant look, because he sighed, speaking a bit more firmly. “Look, Tilly, Arthur’s problem with me goes way back. I ain’t about to dig it up when I’m tryin’ to get him to let me bury it.”

“I could help you, if ya tell me what happened,” Tilly offered. 

“No.”

Tilly let out a high laugh. “Alright, alright, Marston, you got me. I’m just  _ dyin’  _ to know. What’d you do to piss him off so bad?”

Part of Arthur wanted John to answer with some deflection, some excuse. Part of him wanted John to bullshit a story that painted the whole thing as Arthur’s problem, not his.

He got neither of these.

“...It ain’t really my story to tell,” John said, quietly. “The short version is- I...I left the gang, for a while, and Arthur’s got his loyalty thing.”

_ Loyalty thing,  _ Arthur sneered. He was halfway to his feet when he froze, the conversation continuing on the other side of the tent cloth. 

“He hates ya ‘cause you left?”

“Well,” John said, “No. He got pissed that I was leavin’ while I was at it, and tried to cut me off, keep me around. I, uh...I said some things I ain’t real proud of, and even when I came back, I couldn’t take those back.”

“What sorta things?”

Arthur braced.

“Like I said,” John said, evasively. “That ain’t my can to open. Arthur used to-...well, you said he don’t never speak up, but it weren’t always like that. He don’t talk about nothin’ anymore, not after what I said to him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It ain’t my business,” John repeated. There was the shuffling sound of someone standing up. “I told you what I can, now let it lie, Tilly.”

She wouldn’t. Arthur didn’t have to listen for a response to know she wouldn’t. To her, this was  a fun mystery, a novel adventure to dig up and explore. 

He just hoped the gang members who were here long enough to know the truth of it would keep their mouths shut.

He’d never  _ officially  _ told anyone to keep it quiet, though, and so he had little hope that they would. He’d just gotten pissed off and blown up at anyone who mentioned  _ it  _ that they eventually dropped it, burying  _ it  _ in the same place they buried his relationship with Mary or those mysterious trips he used to make when he was very carefully not telling anyone about Isaac and Eliza.

He’d never told anyone what John’d said, either, but he knew they must have figured out the connection, since his absence directly aligned with his sudden sensitivity about  _ it.  _

Dutch, Hosea, Bill, Susan, John, Abigail, Javier - seven people who knew about  _ it  _ left in camp, and he could only count on a few of those to stay silent without significant effort on his part.

_ It  _ was about to come back out, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  
  
  


_ “You’re leavin’?” _

_ The accusation in his voice was even harsher than he’d meant it to be, and he’d been aiming for pretty damn sharp. He could see it cut through John, too. _

_ “You’ve seen what’s been goin’ on,” John snapped back at him, defensive. “Abigail’s swearin’ up and down that kid is mine and I  _ know  _ he ain’t, Arthur-...” _

_ “She’s a damn prostitute, Marstan,” Arthur replied. “Who gives a damn? You weren’t exactly askin’ her to marry ya before, why you uppity about it now?” _

_ “Uppity?” John echoed. “What, what would  _ you  _ do, Arthur? Just give in and take her word, give everything to take care of a kid you know ain’t your responsibility?” _

_ “We’re family,” Arthur said. “Even if you didn’t have nothin’ to do with him, we look out for each other. Of course he’s your responsibility.” _

_ John sneered at him, dragging himself up onto his horse’s saddle, a cold fury burning in his eyes, and Arthur could practically see the malicious words forming before he said them. _

_ “Yeah, well,” John spat down at him. “When I wanna hear about what makes a ‘family,’ Morgan, I sure as hell ain’t askin’ the sodomite.” _

_ Arthur froze.  _

_ The whole camp knew. Dutch and Hosea had known him in his  _ teens _ , of course they knew. It was just one of those things. In their camp, women carried guns under their skirts, men of any color shared the work and the respect, and Arthur was allowed to do whatever he damn well pleased as long as he didn’t pull any more Marys and go draggin’ strangers back into their camps.  _

_ It wasn’t somethin’ they argued about. A joke or two might get thrown around, but everybody knew that at the end of the day, it wasn’t their business, and they let it go. _

_ John, though, had known exactly what to say to get Arthur to forget what they were fighting about, and he’d strolled across that line guns blazing.  _

_ “Fine,” Arthur snarled back at him. “You go ahead and leave, Marston, and let other people have to come behind you and do the work you’re too damned selfish to even consider. We’ll clean up  _ your  _ mess, take care of  _ your  _ damn kid, and if I  _ ever _ see you again-...” _

_ “You won’t,” John cut off, pulling back on his horse’s reins, guiding her to turn and leave. _

_ Arthur stood there, letting cold fury fill the empty parts of his heart, and watched him go. _

  
  
  


“You look like shit.”

Arthur drug his hand down his face from where he’d been rubbing at his eyes, fighting the headache that threatened to build behind them. “Thank you, Charles,” he drawled.

Charles’ boot cut into his view, nudging against his own, which he pulled out of the way so the other man could sit down. Now both seated by the fire, Charles leaned forward, bracing on his own knees, and levelled Arthur with an appraising look. 

Arthur didn’t need verbal prompting to know what Charles wanted. “Thinkin’ about how we got here,” he said, which was not  _ quite _ a lie. “One damn fool move after another. We’re lucky we got here in one piece. We’ll be even luckier to get  _ out.”  _

“One day at a time,” Charles offered. “We’ve got plans, we have a place to stay that’s safe enough for now...Now we can focus on cleaning up the mess we’ve left behind. Starting with that kid, I guess.”

Right. Sean. Arthur stretched out a bit, tipping his head back to face the sky.

“Guess we should go rescue him, huh?” he muttered. “Damn kid’s luckily to be alive- if he still is.”

“He was when Trelawny saw him,” Charles said. “The longer we wait, the less likely that is to count.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur said, dragging himself to stand. “Alright. I can’t sit here much longer, anyway, ‘fore I go insane. I’m ready when you are.”

  
  
  
  


Sean’s rescue somehow managed to be non-fatal for all the Van der Linde gang members involved, and so Arthur found himself stuck in a camp full of drunk and happy criminals, partying away.

It was hard to enjoy it, though, when halfway through the festivities, he caught sight of Tilly and Mary-Beth, stood together at Bill’s side, looking enraptured by whatever he was saying.

Three sets of eyes were on him, suddenly, and Arthur paused with a bottle halfway to his mouth to meet Tilly’s, watching her face go slack and quickly turn away.

There it was, then, Arthur thought.

_ It  _ was out.

He really didn’t feel much up to a party anymore.

  
  
  


“Not a party type?’

Arthur looked up, blinking blearily at the blurred form approaching him. “Hng..Charles?”

“Nevermind, then,” Charles said, approaching Arthur and nudging aside a few scattered empty bottles with the toe of his boot. “Christ, Morgan, I’d think you were the Reverend.” 

“‘D be havin’ a lot more fun, ‘f’I was,” Arthur slurred back. “Mostly just wanna be sick.”

“This doesn’t look like a celebration,” Charles said. A moment later, his face was in view, and Arthur took a moment to understand that he’d crouched down closer. “Is he that bad?”

“Yeah…” Arthur sighed. “Fuckin’ Marston. Fuckin’... _ Williamson. _ ”

“I meant Sean,” Charles said, sounding vaguely amused. “I take it this is something else?”

“S _ ’my  _ business,” Arthur muttured, drawing a knee up to his chest. “It don’t  _ matter,  _ ain’t their place to go draggin’ it back up.”

“I’m sure they’re very sorry,” Charles said, and Arthur distantly recognized the feeling of being dragged to his feet.

He stumbled forward, Charles’ strong hands around his upper arms managing to get him upright but not quite steady, and in an instant he had slumped against the other man’s front, face dropped down on his shoulder. 

“Christ,” he heard Charles breathe. “You really are fucked up right now, huh?”

Arthur gave a noncommittal noise in reply. It was actually rather comfortable where he was, now, if he ignored the swaying of the ground beneath his feet and the swelling urge to vomit, and he was dangerously close to falling asleep.

“Arthur?” A voice called, high and nervous. “Arthur, are you okay? No one’s seen you- Oh.”

Arthur managed to drag his head up off Charles’ shoulder, turning blurred vision onto the approaching form of Mary-Beth. 

“Y’need me?” Arthur managed.

“Oh, no,” she said, quickly. “No, no, don’t need a thing, just wanted to- Well, no one had seen you, and- forget it. Um, goodnight.”

She turned and left, and the heavily drunk haze over Arthur’s brain made it very hard for him to register anything except her goodbye. 

“Night,” he slurred back to her retreating form, and slumped sideways, back against Charles.

Charles, the absolute angel, caught him by the arms again and dragged him forward, guiding him toward the camp on unsteady feet.

“You need sleep,” Charles told him as they moved. “I dunno what happened with you and those other two tonight, but you clearly aren’t taking it well, and I’m not going to get any answers out of a man who can’t even see straight.”

Arthur watched the passing lights of the camp and the distant forms of everyone gathered around the main fire, enjoying the party. The girls were all grouped up - with the exception of Karen, who was still on Sean’s lap - and the men appeared to be in mid-song, led by an enthusiastic Javier and an equally enthusiastic and likely heavily drunk Sean. 

He felt eyes on him, and dropped his eyes to the side, finding himself in a staring contest with John.

The man was too far away and far too blurry for Arthur to interpret his facial expression, but through the drunken haze, he was able to feel a cold dread settle in his stomach. 

Before he could do or say anything else, he felt his legs bump against something, and found himself being eased backward what he sincerely hoped was  _ his _ bed. 

Arthur sat up as quickly as he was laid back, only to make himself nauseous with the movement, and found himself being sick in the grass beside him.

When he’d finished heaving over the edge of his bed, a cup was thrust in front of his face, and Arthur latched onto the tin dishware like a lifeline, greedily sucking down the water held within.

Charles detangled the empty cup from him when he’d finished, and put a hand firmly against his chest, pushing him backward to lay back down. 

“Sleep,” he ordered, gently but firmly. “You’ve earned it.”

“Ain’t earned shit,” Arthur slurred in argument, but was already half asleep before the words were out, and found himself drifting obediently off once the protest had been made.

His whole world was about to get a lot harder, but through the haze of alcohol, his only thoughts were about the warm weight still against his chest, gently pressing down, keeping him in the safety and comfort of his bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> facing the dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arthur vs morning people

Arthur woke to the feeling that he’d been drug across the camp tied to someone’s horse and not, as he could vaguely recall, gently escorted to bed by a remarkably patient Charles. 

His memories of the night before were most likely accurate, though, given the smell in the air when he managed to pull himself together enough to catch it, owed to the sick-up he’d had the night before. 

He’d have to move his tent a few feet back, he supposed, lest he be stuck trying to step around that mess until it sunk fully into the dirt.

He felt awful, and only part of it was do to the physical strain of having drunk himself stupid. A much larger part of it was owed to the fact that he could still remember, quite clearly,  _ why  _ he had chosen to drink himself stupid. 

The soft light of early morning seemed all the more daunting with the knowledge that this day had more than harsh lights to greet him with.

The camp probably knew by now. The sun had barely gone down when Arthur had been forcibly removed from his wallowing, and there was no way the party had past in its entirety without someone letting it slip.

The people who  _ already  _ knew hadn’t cared - well, with the exception of the occasional joke at his expense, but they did that with everyone. 

The new people, however...what would they think?

Mary-Beth was widely believed to have a crush on him, he knew, because he caught the jeering over it every time they spoke. If that were true, she probably wouldn’t take it well.

The new men were a toss-up. Some of them, Arthur couldn’t see making a big stink over it, even if it bothered them, but others…

...Others.  _ Micah.  _

If anyone would have something to say about it, it would be him, for sure.

Dutch wouldn’t stand for anyone getting outright hostile, but Micah had yet to ever hold his tongue regarding their mixed company so far, and Arthur couldn’t imagine he’d let this part go, either. Probably less likely to, in fact - Arthur’s particular oddity was not just generally disliked, it was actively criminalized _._ Arthur could swing in a second if any sheriff managed to catch wind of the sorts of things he’d passed the time with here and there over the years. He was one wrong move away from an ever-mounting bounty, the limits of which were only set by how particularly devout a Christian the lawman who caught him was. 

Reluctantly, Arthur drug himself to sit upright in bed, eyes scanning across the camp.

There were only a couple of people about, closed tent flaps and scattered belongings hinting that most of the camp’s occupants were still asleep, and so Arthur figured he was probably safe for another hour or so at least.

He forced himself to his feet, took a moment to swallow down the reflex to be sick again, and dragged himself across the camp toward Pearson’s tent.

“-...everybody’s welcome who can pull their weight!”

Arthur stilled a few paces away from the food tent, watching as Susan got in Pearson’s grubby little face over something.

“And he most certainly does,” she continued. “Quite a bit more than you do, mind, which makes me wonder where you get the  _ nerve  _ to imply he should be treated as any less than you.”

“I didn’t say nothin’ like that,” Pearson defended. “I just-...We should know stuff like that, shouldn’t we? If we’re gonna be around him and all.”

There was a loud  _ thwap,  _ and Pearson let out a cry, stumbling back a few steps, clutching his hands to his chest. One of them, which had previously been on the table in front of him, was bright red and swelling fast.

Susan was brandishing a heavy pewter soup spoon, clearly just weaponized, waving it in Pearson’s face threateningly. “If you’re damn fool enough to believe, Simon Pearson-...”

“Miss Grimshaw?” Arthur interrupted, finally deciding to make himself known.

Susan jumped, rounding on him, shaking her spoon at him instead. “Arthur Morgan, you scared the devil outta me!” she scolded, before freezing, and her eyes darted between him and Pearson.

“I’m guessin’ that was about me,” Arthur said, approaching the table. “Not that someone pullin’ more weight than Pearson narrows it down much.”

Pearson started to shoot him a rude gesture, then appeared to immediately think better of it and scowl instead.

“Suppose I may as well tell ya now, ‘fore someone wakes up screamin’ about it,” Susan sighed, turning to rummage through Pearson’s cooking things, returning a moment later to thrust a cup of coffee into his hands. “Bill’s off and run his mouth to the girls, and of course they’re three drinks in and decide it’s time to make it common knowledge that Dutch’s open door policy goes past blacks and drunks and right on up to inverts.” A bowl was placed in front of him, and he looked up to Susan’s impassive face as she added, dismissively, “No offense.”

“Ain’t offended,” Arthur muttered in reply, dragging the bowl to him and prodding the contents with a spoon.

(It appeared reasonably edible, which meant Pearson likely had very little to do with it, so he wasn’t terribly worried about what it might contain.)

“S’pose I’m gonna hear a good bit worse,” he said, lifting some of his breakfast on the spoon and letting it slide back off into the bowl. “Best to be ready for it before any of these other assholes drags themselves outta last night’s sick.”

“It’s oatmeal, Mr. Morgan, it ain’t gonna kill you,” Susan snapped, reaching over Arthur’s shoulder to nudge his bowl back from the edge of the table a bit. “And you got some nerve to talk. You damn near drowned yourself last night, and you’ve gone an’ made a right mess of your tent, too. You best be thankin’ Mr. Smith for gettin’ you upright again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Arthur murmured into his breakfast, which he started eating obediently. He still felt nauseous, but once he forced himself to swallow a few spoonfuls, his churning stomach seemed to settle a bit, and he was safe to tuck in more enthusiastically. 

“I guess it makes sense,” Pearson said, after they’d sat in silence for a moment longer. “Wondered why it was the women ‘round here liked you so much better than anyone else.”

“We ain’t bondin’ over a shared taste,” Arthur said, dryly. “I just ain’t a damn creep. You took a bath once in a while and maybe they could stand to be around ya a little better.”

Pearson rolled his eyes, turning his attention to his own cup of coffee, and Arthur took a moment of comfort from this exchange.

While Pearson was being a prick about it, he was doing it in the way he was a prick about  _ everything,  _ which Arthur took as a good sign. He, it seemed, would have a similar attitude toward it that Bill did - meaning, accepted with heavy distaste, only to be mentioned in derogatory terms, but not met terribly aggressively. 

That was all he could hope for, really.  That’s probably what he would get, too - if he could make it through the initial reactions, Dutch or Hosea would probably stamp out any genuine problems with it, and anyone left after that could take it up with him personally. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, and a moment later, a ragged-looking Karen dropped into the seat beside him.

“Mornin’,” he greeted.

“Mornin’, Arthur,” she sighed back, before reaching out, snatching up Arthur’s coffee off the table and downing half of it.

“Hey,” Arthur protested, grabbing it back, ignoring her pout in response. “Get yer own.”

“You got that yourself, did’ya?” Karen asked, watching him smugly. “‘Cause that ain’t a tin mug, and don’t nobody else use pewter but Miss Grimshaw.”

“How many damn mugs we got around here?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “We got fancy plates somewhere set aside for comp’ny? A cup’s a cup, who gives a damn?”

“You ever drink water out of a pewter cup?” Karen countered. “Tastes like you’re lickin’ rocks. I wanna throw ‘em all out, but Miss Grimshaw just loves her _ ‘classics.’” _

Arthur shook his head, utterly beyond comprehension, and finished off his coffee mug, placing it in front of Karen afterward.

“There,” he said. “Got you a cup an’ everythin’.”

“You’re a doll, Arthur Morgan,” Karen said, patting his shoulder as she moved to stand. On her way past Pearson’s cooking table, she tossed the mug haphazardly onto its surface and grabbed herself a tin one instead.

“Princess,” Arthur muttered, and resumed eating with a laugh when Karen shot him a rude gesture over her shoulder.

“So,” Karen chirped, as she fixed herself her cup. “Mary-Beth said you were havin’ fun last night.”

Arthur had the vague memory of her finding him, drunk off his ass, using Charles as a crutch. 

“Oh, yeah,” he said, dryly. “Ain’t a real party til you’re chokin’ back sick.”

Karen shot him an unimpressed look. “That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.”

“I really don’t,” Arthur countered, before immediately adding, “‘Sides, my night was probably a lot less fun than yours.”

Karen pinked, turning her back on him quickly. “Shut the hell up, Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled into his breakfast, waiting until she’d fixed her coffee and something to eat and resettled beside him to speak again. 

“Lay it on me, then,” he invited. “One day only, everyone gets a pass. Startin’ tomorrow I’m beatin’ the ass of anybody who wants ta get smart about it, so say your piece now.”

“Arthur Morgan, you lay a hand on me and Pearson here’ll be servin’ your bits in that night’s stew,” Karen said.

“I didn’t mean-...”

“I  _ know _ you didn’t mean  _ me,” _ Karen said. “I’m just sayin’, I ain’t scared’a you. I’ll make fun of ya for bein’ a shirt lifter any time I feel like.”

Arthur stared at her, watching as she turned to grin at him.

“I’m just givin’ ya shit, Morgan, by God. We can be a couple’a heathen harlots shittin’ on what’s good’n’proper together.”

“I ain’t tryin’ ta _ shit on _ nothin’,” Arthur protested. “Hell, I ain’t lookin’ to do anythin’ about it at all. Ain’t draggin’ no one into my life, no matter what they’re packin’, not now. I ain’t shootin’ myself in the foot that way, and I  _ damn  _ sure ain’t about to get my ass hanged for somethin’ that fuckin’ stupid.”

“Ah, hush up, Morgan,” Karen said, bumping into his shoulder with her own. “Lighten up a lil’. We got a nice thing goin’ ‘round here, ain’t nobody better or worse than nobody else. Ain’t no need to defend yourself ‘bout nothin’, just like you don’t see Lenny or Charles sayin’ sorry for bein’ such a pretty brown or see me givin’ half a damn about the fact I’m meant to be a ‘lady.’”  

“You could do well to give a damn,” Susan said, passing by them, snatching up the discarded mug on her way. “Downright shameful, how some of you girls act. Like you ain’t never even heard’a manners.”

“You see, Arthur,” Karen said, cheerily. “If I ain’t listened to a word Miss Grimshaw told me, you ain’t gotta worry about what any of us goes spoutin’ off to you.”

Arthur shook his head, exasperated, and chuckled out a light, “Appreciated, Karen.”

Susan sniffed to their side, clearly disapproving, but sat another cup of coffee in front of him a moment later, so he assumed he was forgiven. 

_ So far, so good,  _ Arthur thought to himself.

He tried not to think about long Susan’d had to get used to the concept before this, or the fact that Karen and Pearson were both remarkably relaxed people, and that the other reactions would likely be much less casual.

He tried very,  _ very _ hard.

  
  
  
  


(It didn’t work.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very, very light chapter to slowly ease you into a false sense of security as i provide arthur with an emotional safety net before unleashing the douchebags onto him


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3, now featuring repressed gay man bill, vaguely navajo charles, and kieran (who deserved better)

Arthur didn’t know who he  _ expected  _ to be the next person up after Karen, but it damn sure wasn’t Sean.

Nonetheless, he turned up just as Arthur was finishing his meal, looking like he’d been hit by a train, and slumped down into a seat beside Karen.

“Who drug me ‘hind their horse while I slept?” he grumbled. “Coulda took pity and just kilt me, couldn’t ya?”

“And waste all my hard work?” Arthur replied, grinning as Sean recoiled and covered his ears, apparently not having anticipated how loud a person speaking right next to him would be. 

“Shut up, ya great prick,” Sean whined. “Your voice grates enough when I ain’t got a bust head.”

Arthur stood from the table. “Well, I’d hate to make things worse for ya, Sean, so I best head off.” 

“Yeah,” Sean muttered, rubbing at his temples. “Bugger off, then.” However, before Arthur could turn to leave, Sean shot him a sly side-eye and added, “Heard you ain’t fussed to do that anyways.”

Arthur tossed Sean his cup. “Drink some water,” he suggested, remembering Karen’s warning about the taste. “And shut the hell up.”

He turned, ready to head back into the camp, and found himself face-to-face with a tired Charles.

He stumbled back a step, caught somewhere between trying to avoid running into Charles and trying to immediately bail out completely at the memory that it had been this man who got him back together the night before.

“Charles,” Arthur greeted, fighting rising heat beneath his skin. “G’mornin’.”

“Morning, Arthur,” Charles replied, eyeing him carefully. “You’re up earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Arthur defended weakly. 

“You were acting pretty bad,” Charles countered. “You almost fell asleep on me.” 

Behind him, Arthur heard Sean choke on his coffee, and turned to watch him sputter a moment before dissolving into laughter.

Yeah, he probably wasn’t gonna live that one down for a while. 

Returning his attention to Charles, Arthur said, “Thanks for dragging me back to camp. I woulda just left my drunk ass, myself.” 

“Luckily, I’m nicer than you,” Charles said, all dry humor, which made Arthur snort out a small laugh. “I might even be nice enough to help you move your tent, if you can leave it in your mess until I’ve eaten.”

“Sounds good to me,” Arthur said, reaching up to comb a hand through the hairs of his beard. “Might shave in the meantime.”

“Wash up, too,” Susan chimed in from the side. “Change your shirt, at least. Think some of last night’s still stuck to ya somewhere.”

“She sayin’ I stink?” Arthur asked, to which Karen and Sean instantly replied  _ “yes.”  _

“Just a little,” Charles confirmed. 

“Y’all are killin’ me,” Arthur muttured, shaking his head in exasperated amusement. “Alright, alright, I’ll go take care of that, then. Meet me by my tent when we’re both done?”

“Of course.”

Arthur nodded, accepting this, and stepped out of Charles’ way to let him go eat. Karen gave him a weighted look as he turned to leave, which he figured was her way of warning him that they were going to take the piss out of his oddities while he was sorting himself out. 

Let them have fun, though, he figured. Like he’d said - one day pass.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow might find him with bloody knuckles or an empty gun, depending on just how far Micah wanted to push it.

(As bad as everyone else had the risk to be, he was counting on Micah being the worst.)

  
  
  
  


Arthur had managed to strip off his outer layers and was on the topmost button of his shirt when he was accosted again at his tent by one of the people he probably wanted to see the least. 

"Williamson," Arthur greeted warily when the man's shadow fell over his living space. "You've stirred up a whole pile'a shit for me, y'know."

"Wasn't my fault," Bill muttered in reply, eyes fixed on Arthur's shaving mirror, determinedly not meeting his eyes. "Girls hounded me about it 'til I told 'em."

"Yeah, alright," Arthur said, his skepticism leaking through in every word. "I'm sure it ain't got  _ nothin'  _ to do with how certain folk're gonna react when it gets around to 'em. Y'all probably got a queue goin' on who gets to take my place when Micah up an' fuckin' kills me."

"He ain't gonna do shit, Morgan," Bill said immediately. "He ain't nothin' but talk. Against you or me, he wouldn't last a fuckin' second."

"Me or  _ you _ ?" Arthur echoed. "You about to stand up for me there, Williamson?" 

Bill's lips pressed into a thin line. 

"I ain't forgot," Arthur said, quietly. "You and I both know what'chur problem with me is, and it ain't no damn moral objection."

Arthur had found Bill's discharge papers, eons ago. He'd seen the charges, guessed at what they'd meant. He'd brought them to Bill thinking they could share this as brothers, and Bill…

...Well. He hadn't liked that, much. 

"What about it?" Bill said, somewhere between gruff and panicked. 

"Nothin'," Arthur said. "Just maybe you should remember who's on your side  _ before  _ you start making trouble."

"You threatenin' me?" Bill asked, low and dangerous. 

"What am I gonna do, Bill?" Arthur replied. "Cut back when someone mouths off at me with 'Ey, I ain't got nothin' on Williamson'? What the fuck would that help?" Arthur shook his head. "Nah. Knowin' my luck, people'd think we was fuckin'. I got standards, Marian."

"Shut the fuck up, Morgan," Bill said. "That's it, then? You ain't sayin' nothin'?"

"What'd you want?" Arthur asked. "You came over here fer somethin', and it weren't this conversation."

The two stared at each other for a long moment. 

"...Dutch told me to back off the O'Driscoll for a second," Bill said. "S'yer turn, I guess. He might just piss himself if I do much else."

"He still ain't said nothin'?" Arthur asked, incredulous. "He ain't eat in a  _ week _ . He'd be dead by now if Mary-Beth weren't 'sneakin'' him water at night."

"She what?"

"Leave her alone, Williamson," Arthur warned immediately. "He's our only lead right now, so it's a damn good thing she's keepin' him breathin'." He nudged the washbasin at his feet with the toe of his boot, letting the noise of his tapping on the side draw attention to it. "I'll take care of it," he said. "Piss off and let a man take a bath. 'Less you tryin' to-..."

"Fuck off, Morgan," Bill said immediately, but the words had their intended effect, and he cleared off in a second. 

"Swear, I'm fuckin' babysittin'," Arthur muttured, returning to his original plan. 

Bathe, move the tent, handle the O'Driscoll. 

Lookin' like it was gonna be a hell of a day.

  
  
  


Arthur's lodging at Horseshoe Overlook reflected his initial prediction that he would not be given much time in it, as he hadn't bothered to actually set up any kind of privacy option, choosing instead to just have a bed to fall into and not worry about the rest. .

With things as they were, though, he had the feeling privacy wouldn’t be remiss. 

His solution was to rework his lodgings completely - he and Charles swapped the pegs and the cloth draped over them to the other side of the wagon he kept ammunition in for the camp, and then they worked on moving the boxes and such to sit scattered about the covered area, making the outdoor section the restocking point, and moved his bedroll to stretch out over the bottom of the inside of the wagon, giving him what was effectively a private room. 

Charles didn’t comment on the change - when Arthur told him what he’d wanted to do, he just nodded, and they worked primarily in silence, only broken by comments or instructions to help things go smoother.  

Eventually, though, Arthur's lodgings were settled, and the thought that had been grating him the entire time they worked finally reached a point where he couldn't take it anymore. 

He straightened up from where he'd been sticking his pictures to the inside of the wagon and rounded on Charles, squinting at him suspiciously. 

"Why ain't you said nothin'?" Arthur demanded. "Ain't no way you ain't heard. Karen alone woulda told ya twice by the end'a breakfast."

Charles, to his credit, did not play dumb. "She did," he replied, perfectly calm. 

"And?"

"And honestly, Arthur, I don't give a damn one way or the other." He spread his hands out at his sides, looking as though he were already tired of the conversation. "My mother's people had their own way of doing things, and it hadn't been to persecute each other because of who they ended up in bed with. With them, as long as a family's work was split between you and the one you were with, they didn't really give a shit who it was." 

"Seriously?" Arthur asked, incredulous. "They really don't give a damn about that kinda thing?"

Charles' face pinched a bit. "I don't think so. I was just a kid, so they might have just kept their thoughts to themselves, but I was taught words for  _ five _ different genders, not two, so...yeah, no, I don't think they would have cared."

Arthur blinked. "I-...Wha-.... _ Five? _ Where'd the other three come from?"

Charles laughed. "Ask me about it another time," he said. "Maybe over a beer. I'll walk you through what I can remember."

"I'll do that," Arthur said, and returned Charles' dismissive wave goodbye, watching the man's retreating back with an odd warmth. 

He hadn't expected anything positive today, but….Charles' reaction hadn't been mere resignation, like most. He'd genuinely  _ accepted  _ it, greeted it as something perfectly normal. 

Arthur was left walking away from their conversation feeling much better about things, finally reaching some semblance of peace. 

Shame, then, that he had to ruin that good mood by questioning an O'Driscoll, but duty calls. 

  
  
  
  


When you were starving a captive into cooperation, it was best to remind them at all times that this was your tactic, lest they resist it by sheer force of will, ignoring their hunger in favor of some inner strength. 

No one in camp thought the O'Driscoll they'd captured had any decent measure of 'inner strength,' but they made sure to tie him to a tree right next to Pearson's stew pot anyway. 

Arthur made a show of stopping to sniff at the stew along his way. Pearson's cooking was a coin toss most days, either being some of the best food you ever ate or making you feel like his position as camp cook was a cosmic joke, but he played up his reaction, just to fuck with their captive a little. 

"How many days it been, there, O'Driscoll?" Arthur asked, strolling up toward the tree. "Over a week now, ain't it? Eight, nine days?" He rocked back on his heels, making his face into a contemplative expression. "How long can a man live without food, ya think? You're pretty wiry as it is, so it prob'ly ain't long."

"Please," their captive begged. "I swear, I don't know nothin'. I  _ hate  _ Colm O'Driscoll, and they ain't liked me much neither. Nobody tells me anythin' y'all'd wanna know."

"How 'bout you tell us what they  _ do  _ tell you," Arthur said, "and we'll let you know when you get to somethin' we can use.”

The boy looked at him pleadingly. “I don’t know _ anythin’.”  _

Arthur rolled his eyes up toward the sky in exasperation. 

“Arthur!” 

Arthur turned to look behind him, blinking at the approaching form of Dutch.

“Anything useful?” he asked.

“Nah,” Arthur replied. “He swears up and down he’s the only O’Driscoll around who ain’t never seen hide nor hair of ‘im.”

“That ain’t-....” Kieran started, then immediately stopped. “I just don’t know where he  _ is.”  _

“Then say where he  _ was.”  _

“Arthur,” Dutch cut in. “Ignore him a second. I heard about-...Well. Bill overstepped. I’ll be sure to-...”

“Don’t,” Arthur said quickly. “We already talked. He’s got a big fuckin’ mouth, but we already dealt with it, and I ain’t lookin’ to get petty now. It’s done.”

“He was out of line,” Dutch insisted. “You change your mind, let me know, and I’ll deal with it. Same goes for anyone else who wants to go stirring up trouble.”

Arthur shook his head. “I can handle myself.” A part of him was tempted to add an exception for Micah, mainly just to save himself the trouble, but principle kept him silent. “Let’s focus on this one, hm?”

Dutch turned appraising eyes on Kieran. “Bill’s been hanging around him most of the time,” he said. “Done a lot of standing around, staring and looking scary, but I don’t think he’s said much.”

“Explains why this kid ain’t said nothing, either,” Arthur said. “Maybe we should let ‘em talk a bit.”

“Talking wasn’t  _ quite _ what I had in mind.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arthur's no good very bad day, cont.

Bill, predictably, managed to make Kieran spit out Colm’s last known location within five minutes. 

He did so with a heavy enthusiasm that left Arthur slightly worried about leaving him alone with the kid, so he made sure to place Kieran on the back of  _ John’s  _ horse, instead.

“Why am I the one carryin’ this prick?” John yelled over the sound of galloping horses. “He smells like shit, Morgan.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Prob’ly ‘cause we never took him off that tree to piss.”

“What the fuck?” 

John’s instant rounding on Arthur caused him to jerk the reigns of his horse, and he immediately had to turn back to coo at Old Boy until the sudden swerve was forgiven and they could resume full speed. Arthur’s laughter had John spitting swears, which made the whole thing seem even funnier.

“Why the fuck you punishin’  _ me?” _ John demanded. “I didn’t say shit, it was Williamson.”

“Can y’all let me go ten minutes without bringin’ that shit up?” Arthur shot back, amusement gone. “I swear y’all  _ want  _ me to be pissed about it.”

“You sayin’ you ain’t?”

“Not yet,” Arthur replied. “Gettin’ there, but not yet.”

Kieran turned slightly from the back of John’s horse, glancing between the riders curiously.

“Eyes from, O’Driscoll,” Arthur snapped at him. “You’re navigatin’, you ain’t part of this conversation.”

Kieran looked forward again quickly, and rasped out directions to John again.

They managed to make it a good way down the next directed path before Kieran spoke again, apparently emboldened by being away from camp. 

“Y’know...y’all ain’t so different from the O’Driscolls.” 

_ “What  _ did you just say?” John demanded, outraged. “You don’t know a damn thing about us.”

“Y’all are a gang just like they are,” Kieran continued. “You certainly ain’t no nicer.”

“That’s where your wrong, O’Driscoll,” John snapped. “Colm’s a greedy, bloodthirsty motherfucker, and his gang are his toys. Dutch is more of a teacher, and we’re a family more than anythin’.”

“O’Driscolls are after money and power,” Arthur summarized. “The Van der Linde gang is about freedom. E’rybody’s got a place with us.”

“...Huh.”

That seemed to shut Kieran up, and he only spoke again to give them the final string of directions when they got close.

  
  
  


Arthur looked around at the O’Driscoll camp, nose scrunching a bit as the smell of blood and fresh death got to be overpowering. 

“No Colm,” he muttered, and directed his eyes to the only place left he could be: the cabin. 

Gun held at the ready, Arthur braced himself at the door of it, and then kicked it open.

The man on the other side had been ready for him. The second they were face-to-face, Arthur was on his back, knocked flat by the butt the man’s rifle, which was now pointed straight down at him. 

Arthur had a split second to plan his retaliation - likely a strike out at the man’s shins, given his proximity to them - when it became irrelevant, a blood splatter striking warm against his leg as the man’s stomach took a bullet. 

“You alright?!” Kieran yelled.

Saved by the O’Driscoll. His day kept getting worse.

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed out, followed by a slightly reluctant, “Thank you.” 

He sprung to his feet, stepping gun-first into the cabin, ready to face Colm.

The cabin was empty.

“You set us up,” Arthur breathed. He turned, storming across the grass behind the cabin toward Kieran. “He ain’t here. You set us up!” 

“What?” Kieran cried. “No, no, I swear, I didn’t, he was here-...”

Bill and John came running up, likely drawn by the hysterical yelling going on. 

“I-I! If I were settin’ you up, I wouldn’t’a saved your life!”

Bill came to a stop next to Arthur, looking between them with interest. “A good point,” he offered, looking to Arthur for any further explanation.

He likely expected Arthur to defend that Kieran  _ hadn’t  _ really saved him, but Arthur wasn’t stupid. A man could fire a gun just as easily in the process of being tripped as standing still, just with sloppier aim. All he would probably have done was make the whole thing hurt a hell of a lot more. Kieran  _ had  _ saved him. 

“Alright,” he huffed. “Whatever. Go on, get outta here.”

“What?”

Arthur was getting really tired of that. “Go.  _ Run away,  _ I ain’t chasin’ ya.”

“They’ll kill me!” Kieran protested. “I-I can’t go off by myself, I’m good as dead that way.”

“What’d’ya expect  _ me _ to do about it?”

“A-a place for everybody,” Kieran said, quickly. “You said that, right? I’m one of y’all now.”

Arthur blinked. He turned to the others, expecting them to be as disgusted as he was, only to be met with a shrug from John and a disturbingly eager look from Bill. 

“....Fuckin’...” Arthur shook his head. “Alright, alright, damn. Stick around. But I’m warnin’ you-...”

Kieran stumbled back a couple steps, getting clear of Arthur’s reach. “I won’t do nothin’, I swear. I ain’t stupid.”

“Debatable,” Arthur muttered in reply. “Fine, then. Back to camp.” 

“You grabbed the cash?”

Arthur stared at Kieran, silently prompting.

“They...usually hide cash,” Kieran said. “In the chimney.”

He took a step toward the cabin, and Arthur shot a hand out, smacking against his chest to stop him in his tracks. “I’ll get it,” he said. “ _ You  _ can go with these two.” And then, because Bill still looked thrilled and Arthur was feeling vindictive, he added, “Williamson, you can take him back. Give Marston’s nose a break.”

Kieran looked vaguely like he wanted to be sick, which was a soothing balm over the wound to Arthur’s pride.

  
  


When Arthur returned to camp, he had two things that immediately caught his attention, and he couldn’t decide which one was more upsetting.

The first was Kieran, being fussed over by a clearly very annoyed Susan Grimshaw, who was likely only happy about the situation for the fact that she could now force the kid to take a bath and stop stinking up their camp. 

The other was, all the way across the camp, a now awake and equally annoyed Micah, a single step shy of being in Charles’ face.

There was nothing he could do about Kieran that Susan couldn’t handle herself, so he crossed the camp, heading quickly for the confrontation.

“-throw you off the damn mountain if I had my way,” he heard as he got close.

“You’re welcome to try,” Charles replied, cool as could be. 

“There a problem, fellas?”

Micah rounded on Arthur, face twisted in open rage and disgust. 

“Wondered when I’d be hearin’ from you,” Arthur greeted, almost cheery. “Lay it on me, then. I’m sure you got plenty t’say.” 

“Damn right I do,” he said, a stubby finger pointed in his face. “Ain’t my place to say who do and who don’t got right to  _ breathe _ around here, but I do get say in what shit I have to put up with. You stay far as fuck away from me, Morgan, or they’ll be searching for enough pieces to bury. Got me?” He turned sideways, toward Charles. “You two, red. I don’t want to even look at your damn face.”

“You ain’t breakin’ my heart none,” Arthur told him. “I’m more than happy to steer clear’a you, you demented hillbilly motherfucker.”

“Seconded,” Charles said, dry. “I’d be careful with your threats, though. I’ve been on my own for long enough to survive if Dutch kicks me out of camp, so I don’t have any reason not to remind you exactly why they’re willing to have me around when jobs get violent.” 

“Dutch wouldn’t cut you loose,” Arthur told him. “Not ‘less I was cold in the ground first. You wanna take on this prick, you go right ahead.”

Micah scowled at them both. “Drop dead, invert fucks,” he spat, rounding on a heel and stomping off.

“Well, that went better than I thought,” Arthur said. He looked to Charles. “Don’t know how you got into it, but...thanks. For the help, anyway.”

Charles looked at him, something unreadable in his gaze. “Thank you for yours,” he returned, after a second. “You give loyalty quicker than most, I think.”

“Nah,” Arthur dismissed. “You’re good company and you ain’t bad in a fight...I’d trust you at my back sooner than some of these assholes, and I’ve been with most of ‘em for years.”

Charles’ lips curled up in a small, amused smile. “That’d be higher praise in a camp without Uncle.”

Arthur laughed. “Maybe I should say most sober company, instead. Hell, I like you better than Marston, and I was raised with the bastard.”

“That’s probably why.”

Arthur laughed again, surprised at his own good humor, given how monumentally awful his day had been. 

“Oh, good!” 

Arthur’s laughter cut off quickly, as he turned to face the quickly approaching Leopold Strauss.

“I was hoping you weren’t in too poor a mood, Herr Morgan,” Strauss said. “If I could...borrow you, for a moment?”

Arthur looked to Charles, who ignored his silent pleading for help and gave Strauss a small nod. “I’ll catch up with you later, Arthur,” he said, as he stepped back. “Over that drink we talked about?”

“I’ll find ya when I’m thirsty,” Arthur agreed, and watched him go. When he was alone with Strauss and very firmly trapped in whatever scheme the man was up to, he turned to face the German with the look of a man on the gallows. “Herr Strauss,” he returned, the German formality sitting oddly in his mouth. “You need me for somethin’?”

“Another debt collection,” Strauss confirmed. Something must have shown on Arthur’s face, because he quickly continued, “Nasty business, yes, but this is a particularly difficult situation, and a rather sizeable loan. Now, I’m willing to adjust the splitting of the profits in your favor if you are able to collect it, yes? It is…Well, I don’t feel comfortable sending anyone else.  _ You _ are the best suited to this, I think.”

Arthur let out a heavy sigh. How he’d gotten marked as the guy who was good at beating money out of people, he didn’t care to know, but he hated it.

Still, money was money, and more in his pocket meant more in the box, and at the end of the day, that’s what they were there for. 

“Gimme the address and the numbers,” he conceeded. “I’ll see what I can do. If they ain’t got the money, there ain’t much I can do for it.”

“You’ll figure something out, I’m certain,” Strauss said, pulling a folded slip of paper from his coat pocket and passing it over. 

Arthur unfolded it to reveal the scribbled words  _ THOMAS DOWNES,  _ vague directions to a ranch in New Hanover, and the numbers for the debt he was meant to collect. 

“Jesus,” Arthur breathed out, staring at the numbers in disgust. “How much did he borrow?” 

“Fifty dollars,” Strauss said. “Sizeable, as I said. I’ll admit, I didn’t expect much of it - most of the time the interest rate keeps people from stepping a penny over forty.” 

“Did he borrow it durin’ the damn war?” Arthur asked. “This says sixty five.  _ Fifteen dollars  _ in interest, Strauss? We been here less than a month.”

“It was a short-term loan,” Strauss said. “He had a payment date and he didn’t make it. The terms of the loan were clear.”

Arthur shook his head, folding the paper back up and cramming it into his pocket. “You’re a snake, Leopold, you really are.”

“I’m sure,” Strauss replied, dismissive. “If you could be quick about that, then?”

Arthur shot him a rude gesture as he turned to leave, seeking out his horse. 

This day had been a wild ride so far - from the anxiety of the morning, to the high of a chase, to the low of having his life saved by a kid who’d been pissing himself against a tree for days, to  _ Micah,  _ to  _ Charles,  _ to-...

Well, Arthur thought, mounting his horse. At least he had that drink to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inflation rate translations!  
> $50 = about $1.5k  
> $65 = about $2k  
> $15 = about $450-500  
> further math was that this was based on arthur's reward takes from the other money lending missions, about $4 per person, and his takes are usually between 10-25% of the total
> 
>  
> 
> I failed my first college math class twice and here I am, devoting at least an hour to working up the math to get a cowboy coughed on by a sick man for that sweet gay angst


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, slapping a big gay band-aid on canon,

The second Arthur laid eyes on Thomas Downes, he realized how monumentally fucked he was.

He’d seen Downes before, he knew now that he could recognize his face. He’d been in the city, collecting money for the poor.

Most of the time, if Arthur saw someone asking for money for a cause, he assumed at least a portion of that money was getting pocketed. That was unlikely to be the case here, though, not  with the state of things. The Downes Ranch was devoid of life, and the flimsy crop being raised within the fencing beside their house looked like it would just barely manage to keep a man fed. 

The man within said fence looked thin and worn and tired, and there was a harsh speck of red by his mouth that Arthur had a bad feeling was probably blood. 

“You...uh,” Downes said, as Arthur dismounted from his horse. “What’d’ya need, sir?” 

“Thomas Downes?” Arthur asked. At the man’s nod, Arthur strode forward, letting himself in the fence. “You owe me money.”

“Oh, no,” Downes breathed, which quickly turned into a cough. After a moment, he got it under control, and spoke again. “I-I don’t have it, sir. Please, we’re-....”

Arthur gestured at the ranch around them. “Sell the house,” he suggested. 

“We owe more than it’s worth,” Thomas replied, weakly.

“Sell your wife,” Arthur offered. “I don’t care, sell somethin’, get us the money.” He reached out, grabbing the front of Thomas’ shirt. “We ain’t your idea of charity, Mr. Downes.” 

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but was instead racked with another cough. Arthur felt something wet hit his cheek, and brushed it off with one hand, looking down at the red smear with a sinking realization. 

Downes was sick, bad sick, and there wasn’t any way Strauss wouldn’t have known that. He sent Arthur to a dying man’s house to beat his last penny out of him. That was what Arthur was to him: a violent force put on this Earth specifically to clean up all the messes the rest of the gang left behind them. 

...What had Strauss said? It was dangerous here, a risky job, he couldn’t send anyone else…

Strauss hadn’t given an opinion on Arthur’s latest bit of news, he realized. He’d definitely heard, he’d implied as much, but he hadn’t given his thoughts. He’d given a job, instead, and a particularly nasty one. 

“That German bastard,” Arthur breathed out, releasing Downes. “You’re sick.”

“Y-yessir,” Thomas stuttered out, rubbing his chest and looking up in surprise. 

“What is it?”

“...Tuberculosis,” Downes said. “It’s-....I ain’t got long, they don’t think.”

This was his solution, Arthur thought, staring down at Thomas Downes with something cold settling in his stomach. Two birds, one stone - he could get his debt back, and if the illness in the air at this dying man’s ranch claimed another victim…

Well, it wasn’t anyone they’d miss, was it?

Arthur stepped back, dragging a hand down his face.  _ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, damn it to Hell- _

“A’ight,” Arthur breathed, squaring his shoulders as he turned back to Downes.  “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He strode forward, placing a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, ensuring (unnecessarily) that he had the man’s full attention. “The man who loaned you that money is expectin’ me to come back with it. I show up, and we split it up, $65 dollars three separate ways.” Arthur held up three fingers. “Half the money goes to the man in charge. Thirty two dollars and fifty cents spoken for, right off the bat. He’s a good man, though, reasonable - I can talk him down. Second biggest cut is mine, for pickin’ it up, since Strauss was bribin’ me into doin’ it in the first place. We’re splittin’ the thirty, and the extra’s mine - that’s seventeen dollars and fifty cents to me. Ya followin’ me?”

Downes looked terrified and highly confused, but gave a short, abrupt nod.

“Right,” Arthur said. “That’s fifteen dollars that gets handed to Strauss. I can’t do nothin’ about that - he gave the money up, he gon’ want it back.” Arthur pointed to Thomas. “You got fifteen dollars, sir?”

“I…I don’t follow.”

Arthur huffed. “I ain’t collectin’,” he said. “Fifteen dollars is all I’m askin’ - just enough to say it’s done and get away with it, ya got me?”

“I-...” Thomas blinked at him. “S-Sir, that’s….that’s mighty kind of you-...”

“Fifteen dollars, Downes.”

“Right,” Thomas said. “I, uh...we got some money, socked away. Was gonna get us a plow horse to do us up some proper fields, but I ain’t got the time left to go startin’ a new farm anyhow, I don’t figure. There’s prob’ly fifteen dollars there. If not, I got a couple things- Daddy’s old watch, that kinda stuff.”

“Works for me,” Arthur said, releasing Downes and taking a step back. “You get it for me, I’ll take it back, and we can both pray we don’t see each other again.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas breathed out. “This is- this is a good thing you’re doing, helping us like this, it really-...”

“I’m doin’ this to spite a German,” Arthur dismissed. “Ain’t no charity, you just got lucky I was already pissed off ‘fore he sent me down here.”

“If this is your anger,” Thomas said, “Your charity must be a saint’s envy.”

Arthur pinked a bit, and managed a gruff, “Just get me the damn money.”

Thomas fled the fencing, toward the house. Arthur watched as he ran into a woman and a young man at the porch, coming to see what was going on, and saw them exchange a quick word. Thomas ducked into the house after a moment, leaving the other two staring his way.

Unsure what to do with himself while waiting, Arthur offered an awkward wave. It was not returned.

A moment later, Thomas came back out, a beaten-looking box in his hands. He reached Arthur wheezing, the brief hurry having managed to exhaust him - he really  _ wasn’t _ doing well. “Here,” he gasped out, pushing the box into Arthur’s hands. “There’s about twenty dollars worth in there.”

Arthur opened the box, digging through it to take a quick inventory, and pulled out a ring, which he passed back. “Only need the fifteen,” he reminded Downes. 

The man smiled at him, gently accepting the ring. “What’s your name, sir?” he asked. 

“Arthur,” he replied. “Arthur Morgan.”

“You’re a good man, Mr. Morgan,” Downes said, gesturing with the ring between two fingers, wielding it as proof of his claims. “God smiles on the good man.”

Arthur snorted. “No ‘fense, Mr. Downes, but if God’s lookin’ at me right about now, he’s probably not feelin’ much for smilin’.” He stepped back, jerking his head toward his horse. “I’ll cut outta here, then. Y’all don’t go borrowin’ anymore money. ‘Specially not from Germans who wanna charge you fifteen dollars for the honors.”

“We’ll do our best,” Downes replied. “Good evening, Mr. Morgan.”

“Evenin’, Mr. Downes,” Arthur replied, and turned, mounting his horse, riding her off the property feeling oddly satisfied. 

  
  
  


Arthur talked a big game about Dutch, but when it came down to it, he didn’t  _ really _ want to go up to the man and say “Hey, I just walked away from sixty five dollars because I’m pretty sure Strauss just wants me dead.”

Dutch was a good man, Arthur truly believed that, but...sometimes,  _ good  _ wasn’t necessarily enough. In these instances, Arthur turned to Hosea.

“Ah, Arthur,” Hosea greeted, when he’d strolled up to him in camp. “I was looking for you earlier. Though, it seems I’m not the only one interested in speaking to you.”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Arthur replied. “I need to talk to ya, though. It’s about-...I just got back from a job. For Strauss.”

Hosea’s face pinched slightly. His opinions and Arthur’s were usually fairly similar, and Strauss’ case was no exception. Loan shark operations, however vital for establishing a ‘legitimate income,’ were dirty and vile and generally all around detestable. 

“Listen…” Arthur sat with Hosea at the table, lowering his voice. “Strauss loaned money to a rancher up near Valentine. Good money, too, and there ain’t no way he’s gonna get it back.” 

“Sometimes deals don’t work out,” Hosea said, dismissive. “Nothin’ for it. Just gotta cut the loss and be done with it. Why? Strauss giving you trouble about it?”

“No, I-...” Arthur glanced around, then back to Hosea. “I ain’t doin’ the job.”

“...Pardon?”

“Strauss sent me to get that money, but that man’s  _ dyin’,  _ Hosea,” Arthur said. “If he’s got the money to keep his own family fed a day past his last breath, I’ll eat my damn hat.”

Hosea frowned. “Deals don’t always work out,” he repeated. “Just tell Strauss-...”

“No,” Arthur interrupted, and moved, sitting Thomas Downes’ box on the table. “I’m givin’ him this. It’s enough to cover his cut if I had got the whole payment. I’m gonna give this to ‘im, and tell ‘im I got it all. That way he ain’t got no reason to bother ‘em anymore. I just…” He looked down at the box. “I need your help with Dutch. If he wants me to make up that profit, I’ll find somethin’, but-...”

“Son.”

Arthur looked up to Hosea again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hosea told him, gently. “Strauss’ numbers don’t add up half the time anyway. You give him that, I’ll mark it off the ledger, and you and me can both forget this conversation ever happened. Deal?”

“Thanks, Hosea,” Arthur breathed, relieved. 

“Don’t mention it,” the man replied. “Though, while I’ve got you feeling endeared to me-...”

Arthur groaned. “Don’t talk about it,” he pleaded. “I’m so damn sick’a talkin’ about it already, and it ain’t even been a day.” 

“It  _ has  _ been a day,” Hosea argued. “And a long one, at that. I just wanted to assure you that Dutch’s policy has always been family first, and neither one of us is going to stand by while anyone tries to stir up any trouble against you. So far, no one’s said anything too bad- I suppose Charles has something to do with that.”

Arthur blinked. “Charles?” he echoed.

“His involvement was unexpected, but I’m grateful for it,” Hosea continued, entirely nonsensically to Arthur. “Two of our strongest fighters paired up is enough to make any man hesitate to pick a fight. Something I believe Mr. Smith is using to his full advantage.” 

Arthur frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Hosea huffed out a small laugh. “Charles has been interceding on your behalf most of the day. Doesn’t say much, just reminds them he’s there- gives ‘em a chance to really think about what they’re about to say.”

Arthur shook his head. “Damned fool,” he muttered. “Ain’t no point gettin’ himself stirred up in all this. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with him.”

Hosea’s eyebrow quirked up at him. “Not what I’ve heard.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

Hosea gave a sly half-smile. “Mary-Beth seems to be of the opinion she interrupted something the other night between you two.”

“I- What?” Arthur sputtered, racking his brain. He vaguely remembered it, now that it had been pointed out - Mary-Beth stumbling on him, half conscious in Charles’ arms, and stuttering out her excuses while she tried to run.

Of course. She got told about his unusual tastes and immediately found him draped against a man like a whore after a dollar - of course she drew her own conclusions.

Arthur felt his face burn, and brought his hands up to it, groaning into his palms. 

“I’ll take that as confirmation, shall I?”

“Do  _ not,”  _ Arthur said. “I was drunk as shit and makin’ a fool’a myself, that’s all.”

“I see,” Hosea said, but when Arthur peaked through his fingers at the man, he still looked like he was holding back a laugh. “Have you spoken to Charles at all today?”

“A couple’a times,” Arthur confirmed, raising his head back out of his hands to squint suspiciously at Hosea. “Why?”

“Just trying to get the full picture,” Hosea said. Before Arthur could ask what that meant, he pushed up from his seat, gesturing to the box. “You might want to go ahead and take that to Strauss.” He tipped his head, looking out toward the setting sun, and added, “Then you should get some rest. Like I said, it’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again,” Arthur agreed, standing as well, collecting the box to go turn over. “Thanks again, Hosea.”

“Don’t mention it,” the man replied easily. “Seriously, don’t. Once it’s on paper, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Yeah, I got ya,” Arthur said. “Still…”

Hosea turned back to Arthur, giving him a soft, fond smile. “Get some rest, Arthur,” he said, gentle but insistent. “You did a good thing today.”

Arthur scoffed, but his surrogate father was gone before he could say anything to the contrary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hosea and arthur's relationship is pure and wholesome and it needs to be appreciated more  
> also everyone in this camp is under the impression charthur be fuckin


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the goodest boys

“Anybody seen Arthur?” 

Kieran looked up, knife lodging midway down the latest of the potatoes he was meant to be peeling. 

“Leave the poor man alone,” Susan sighed in response, turning exasperated eyes away from her close watch over Kieran to glower at the man who’d approached. “One day and I think every person in this camp has said somethin’ about it. Most of ‘em ain’t nice, neither.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” the man said, hands coming up in surrender. “I already knew, remember?” 

“Right,” Susan said. “And you didn’t stop Williamson from runnin’ his damn mouth?”

“Hey,” the man said. “I can try all I want, I’m hardly his wife. He don’t listen to me no sooner than he does y’all.”

“That is a damn lie, Javier,” Susan snapped. “You’re about the only one short of Dutch the man  _ will  _ listen to, and you know it. And if you-...”

“Hey,” Javier interrupted her, eyes landing on Kieran. “Thought we got rid of him.” 

“Change of plans,” Susan said, turning to appraise Kieran as though she were sizing up livestock for slaughter. “Apparently he handled himself okay, so now Arthur wants to keep ‘im.” 

“‘Handled himself’ okay, huh?” Javier echoed, quirking an eyebrow in Kieran’s direction. “Spill a man’s guts and he shows ‘em with pride. Still, if we were getting pets, I would’ve liked one a little prettier, yeah?”

“You are vile, Mr. Escuella,” Susan informed him. “John said he saved Arthur’s life, and that’s good enough for me. Leave him alone - he’s got enough to worry about.”

Kieran blinked at her, stomach sinking. “I-I do?”

“Well, you ain’t got no bedroll,” she said, starting to tick items off on her fingers. “You ain’t got clothes, you ain’t got money, you ain’t got weapons,  _ and,  _ if that weren’t bad enough,” she turned to Javier, and finished, “ _ Bill  _ likes him.”

Javier snorted. “Godspeed, amigo. You’re fucked.”

Kieran swallowed, looking between them, but didn’t get the chance to say anything else before another appeared - Pearson. 

“You got them potatoes?” he demanded, coming close. “Gimme that-...This all you got? Dammit.”

“Small meal tonight, Pearson,” Javier said. “Looks like Arthur turned in early, and there’s no fun hanging around if you can’t gawk, right?”

“Fairy or not, I don’t make meal schedules for Arthur fuckin’ Morgan,” Pearson replied. “Dinner’s gettin’ cooked, and you lot can eat it now or when it’s cold and ruined in the morning.”

“Probably have trouble tellin’ the difference.”

Pearson shot Javier a rude gesture, heading off toward his tent. 

Kieran’s attention had been caught by something else from that conversation, though. “...’Fairy’?”

“Shut the fuck up, O’Driscoll,” Javier snapped to him immediately. “Nobody asked your damn opinion. You keep your mouth shut and your hands busy around here, or you’ll have me to answer to, you got me?”

Kieran managed a weak nod as the man turned and stalked off.

“Surprised you haven’t heard,” Susan said. “You been in camp since Sean’s party, ain’t ya? All came out that night. Short version is Morgan’s a bit of an invert. Mr. Smith, too, if you listen to rumor, but I ain’t one for hearsay.” She grabbed a basket of apples and sat it in his lap, forcing one into his hand. “Peel these. Anyways, it ain’t nothin’ you need to be concerned about. Ain’t no one in this camp a perfect man, and ain’t nobody tryin’ to be. Javier’s right - you do your work, you shut your mouth, and we won’t have no problems. Got me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kieran answered.

This had been what the men had been discussing on their way out two Six Point Cabin. The thing Williamson had talked about that Morgan was blaming Marston for - or, at least, that’s what he gathered was going on from the conversation. 

‘A place for everyone,’ indeed. 

They’d said it like it was a negative point for him, but instead, he felt oddly comforted.

This place wasn’t all talk - they really did consider each other family, really did love each other, really  _ accepted _ each other. 

If he could just prove himself, he had the feeling he would like it here.

  
  
  
  
  


Having his bed outside meant that Arthur had developed the habit of waking each morning to the first warmth of the rising sun. Putting his bed inside the wagon meant that his body had to do its waking alone, though, and it appeared to have overcorrected, as he found himself poking his head out again to find it still a good hour or so until dawn. 

He knew himself too well to think that going back to sleep was even an option to consider, and so instead grabbed a pack of cigarettes and resigned himself to an early start. 

Uncle was the only one really brazen enough to go strolling about the camp in his union suit alone, so Arthur took the time to drag on some pants and stick his feet in his boots before he headed for the ridge of the overlook. 

To his surprise, watching the sunrise had apparently been someone else’s idea, as well, because there was someone already there, blowing smoke into the first faint lights of morning. 

“Havin’ that bad a day already, huh?” Arthur asked - quietly, aware of their proximity to a still sleeping camp. “Up an lightin’ a smoke before dawn.”

Hosea glanced over his shoulder, gaze flicking up and down over Arthur’s form, settling a moment on the cigarettes in his hand before returning to the sky. “You’re one to talk.”

“I got the feelin’ a smoke before dawn is gonna be a good practice for me,” Arthur said. “For a few days, anyway.”

Hosea let out a harsh breath, a stream of smoke uncurling in the air before him. “Bill shouldn’t have said anything,” he said, soft but sounding frustrated. “We got enough goin’ on, less than a month outta that Blackwater mess, and now we go and add-...”

Arthur gave a soft laugh, catching Hosea’s attention, the man shooting him an incredulous look.

“Micah is calling for  _ blood,”  _ Hosea said. “Mary-Beth’s been shaken pretty bad by the shock of it, Tilly’s havin’ a ball, most of the men who didn’t already know are suspicious of you for one reason or another, everybody’s at each other’s throats- why are you  _ laughing?”  _

“Micah can have all the blood he wants,” Arthur said, dismissive. “I’d be happy to let him choke on it. Mary-Beth’s not all that delicate, the other girls’ll get her goin’ soon enough, and Tilly could use a laugh, even if it is at me. Everybody else...well, they got somethin’ to say…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, as though to say,  _ I’m right here.  _ “Ain’t no use gettin’ stirred up about it when ain’t nothin’ happened yet.”

“You’re awful calm,” Hosea said, slowly, narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “I noticed yesterday….Back when John first left-...”

“Hnnf.”

“Don’t grunt at me, Morgan, use your words,” Hosea said. “When John first left, you got real defensive about this stuff. You were ready to beat bloody any man that said a word, and now it’s out and people are talkin’ and you just...don’t seem to care.” He turned, stepping up to Arthur, face nothing but concern. “And now I’m just worried that...maybe, this is botherin’ you more than you let on, and there’s no way I can help because you won’t say a thing to me about it.”

Arthur shook his head, and fished out a cigarette of his own, taking his time to light it and take his first drag before he attempted a reply. “It’s always been-...It ain’t nothin’ I can change. Damned if I ain’t tried. And me gettin’ mad when it’s brought up just makes me hate it that much more, and that makes me even angrier the next time it comes up, and I just-...I can’t keep that up, Hosea, I just can’t. So I shut it down. And now it’s up again, and our crew we got now…”

Arthur looked over his shoulder, into the heart of the camp. 

“Dutch puts a lotta faith in Micah,” Arthur said, voice low, looking back to Hosea. “He ain’t goin’ anywhere. And if I give him this, if I let it get to me- he won’t let it go. So I have two options: I can get pissed off about shit I can’t change....Or, I can listen to Charles, when he says there’s more important shit to worry about then stuff like this.” 

“Charles, huh?” Hosea said. “You two talked about it, then?” 

Arthur shook his head, laughing. “He definitely talked,” he said. “I didn’t understand half the shit he was tryin’ to tell me, but apparently the Indian way’a life don’t give two shits who falls into bed with who. ‘So long as work gets done,’ or something-...anyway, that’s something I can get behind. Who cares who is what and what they got goin’ on, so long as you helpin’ who you need ta help and not hurtin’ nobody who ain’t got it comin’.”

Hosea looked behind them, back toward his own bedroll, strewn underneath a half-tent alongside Charles’ and Javier’s, both empty. 

“Javier’s on watch,” Hosea said. “But I didn’t see where Charles went last night. Into town, I guess, if he wasn’t-...” He cut off, side-eyeing Arthur a moment, before saying dismissively, “Well. He ain’t here, one way or the other. Maybe you should see where he got off to.”

“Maybe,” Arthur agreed. Then, following Hosea’s gaze to the tent, he asked, “Hey...how come you sleep out with everybody else instead’a gettin’ your own tent? You know Dutch-...”

“Dutch wouldn’t deny me the moon if I asked right,” Hosea agreed. “But I ain’t about to take nothin’ from him I don’t damn well need, and it doesn’t make a lick of difference to me if I sleep under open stars or vaulted ceilings. I have food to eat, a place to rest my head, fire keepin’ me warm-...I’m not about to waste resources building some place cushy for an old man like me.” After a second, he seemed to notice what he’d implied, and looked quickly to Arthur. “Not that you’re wrong for taking your own space when you can get it - especially with stuff like this whole mess to consider. You move your bedroll and the whole camp would probably shift, twitchy as these ignorant little shits are being.”

“I moved into the ammo wagon,” Arthur confessed. “Wanted a little more space between me and everyone who might have something to say. Probably won’t last long, though - only reason I’m up this early is I can’t sleep worth a shit in a place where I’m that boxed in.”

“Might wanna take that upgrade for yourself,” Hosea suggested. “A proper tent, so you can close or open it however much you need to at the time.”

Arthur snorted. “Don’t need that much. Need to get privacy that bad I’ll ride my ass into town and get me a room someplace. Else just go sit in the woods.”

Hosea laughed. “Don’t tell me much more than that, thanks, son.”

“You the one goin’ there, old man,” Arthur defended, through a laugh of his own, and the two stood there chuckling over their own bad joke for a minute longer. 

Finally, Hosea gave a deep sigh, stomping out the butt of his cigarette. “Alright, alright,” he said. “I’m gonna go swap out with Javier, give the kid a rest. You goin’ after Charles?”

“I reckon,” Arthur agreed, stamping out his own smoke. “You see which way he headed?” 

“Off into the trees, that’s all I know,” Hosea said. “Check the horses, see if Taima’s still there. He didn’t pack for a trip, so he should be nearby, but bein’ close on foot and bein’ close on a horse are two different things.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Arthur said, waving him off. “Don’t fall asleep on watch, grandpa.”

“Don’t step on the O’Driscoll,” Hosea returned. “Think he tucked in on some of the old hay back there. Should probably get him a bedroll, next time we’re in town.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, dryly, “Right along with your tent.”

Hosea gave an amused huff, shaking his head and walking off. “Good morning, Arthur! Tell Charles I said hello.”

“What am I, a postman?” Arthur returned, watching Hosea laugh as he left. 

“Right,” Arthur said, to himself, once alone and being bathed in the rays of the rising sun. “Let’s see where Charles done run off to.”

He’d be sure to detour a few paces and step on the sleeping O’Driscoll along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the drama of a forced outing, it is very grounding to have a cute boy who supports you and accepts you for who you are  
> and also i could never find charles in camp in horseshoe overlook when i needed him so we're goin boy huntin

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is SpicyReyes, as always :)


End file.
